“Hopeless fucks took my carry on in Seattle because “the overhead compartments were full” then proceeded to lose it. Laptop, camera, medication. Fucking American air system.”

It was my friend from Australia, making an extended layover in Los Angeles before returning back to the Aussie after his trip to the Penny Arcade Expo. It was to be his first trip stateside. This detour was specifically to visit me- a woman he’d met online a year prior on a video game forum with a cheesy name.

“Where are you now? Do you have a phone charger?”

“Sitting at LAX thinking about my next move. Too early to check in to my hotel. Need to find a decent cab fee and call Delta in two hours. Bleh, fucking bleh.”

So, I did what any decent human being should do, I went immediately to go get him.

Now, let me put this out there right away: cars and I don’t have the best of relationships. Specifically ones that have come from my Uncle Jay. I love my uncle to pieces, but there have been horror stories of most every vehicle I’ve gotten from this uncle. Today was no exception.

I took off on the 405 and headed towards LAX in my 1995 Firebird. At the time, this car was gorgeous (on the outside). However, it was a bit difficult for me to drive as the stick had been ridiculously hard to shift since it was purchased.

As I went my merry way being the hero, I noticed that the car was becoming more and more easy to shift.

“Maybe dad is right and I just needed to get used to it.” I said to myself as I pulled up curbside to retrieve my foreign friend. He and I hugged as I took his belongings and loaded them into the tiny white sports car.

The drive back was light at this time of day. We were in lane three when it happened. Yes, it, happened. The buildings started to slow down. The blur of the passing cars was coming to a close. Right there in lane three on the dreaded 405. I looked over at him as the car silently came to a stop and just smiled. I reached into the center console for my phone and my video camera and began to sing.